The Banality of Evil
by el Jota
Summary: A drow orphan of unknown heritage, the scheming mind of Menzoberranzan's consummate opportunist, and the inexorable tugs of fate. The creation of a monster more real than any had thought possible.
1. Valas' Misfortune

Valas Hune slinked adroitly through the crowded throngs of people in Menzoberranzan's bazaar. As he moved along, Valas thought back and remembered his conversation with Jarlaxle, even as his eyes probed the marketplace for pickpockets and other nuisances.

- - - - - - - - - -

_Valas walked into an extravagantly adorned but simply designed stone chamber to see the man he who had invited him. An eye-patch concealed his left eye and his face was hidden under a wide-brimmed hat with a large feather extending from it. He sat slouched nonchalantly in a chair with his feet propped up on a desk, which separated him from the newest entrant. Valas waited in silence, his eyes scanning the room before coming to rest on its occupant. He thought it strange that this other drow could be so relaxed in front of a drow he did not know, even though Valas was sure a man like Jarlaxle had numerous contingencies for anything and everything._

_Jarlaxle tilted his hat back and arched his neck ever so slightly to gaze upon the lithe drow. He uncrossed and re-crossed his legs, causing his bell-adorned boots to jingle feverishly._

"_Valas Hune, please take a seat," he said, gesturing casually to a chair on Valas' side of the desk. "Would you care for something? Wine, perhaps?" he asked, reaching over to the desk a grasping a wand. Valas tensed for a second, his hands moving marginally closer to the weapons he had been allowed to carry into this meeting. Jarlaxle cocked one eyebrow at this but simply waved the wand, conjuring a glass of wine into existence._

"_Oh, only one? I guess its business before pleasure then?"_

"_I prefer to remain standing," the smaller drow quipped, obviously valuing his readiness over potentially offending his host, as Jarlaxle brought the wine glass to his nose and inhaled deeply, "and my business is my pleasure."_

"_It is good to hear that," Jarlaxle responded, absentmindedly spinning the wine as he rose to his feet. "You see, I understand you have just come to crossroads," he began, and Valas stiffened ever so slightly. "I can offer you a way out. Bregan D'aerthe could use an individual your skills, and I have something specific in mind. All I am asking is one favor, and then you can extricate yourself from the matriarchy, as much as feasibly possible, at any rate. Bregan D'aerthe takes care of her own. What do you say?"_

"_Tell me about this task…" Valas heard the words leave his mouth and was only slightly surprised by how readily they sprung forth from his tongue. But then again, if anyone could deliver him from his current situation, it would be Jarlaxle. _

"_I understand that you have some degree of experience with the surface…"_

_- - - - - - - - -_

Valas had almost picked his way halfway through the entirety of the marketplace when something caught his eye. A diminutive drow hand, so tiny the scout had to blink to make it was real, was probing the purse of a duergar trader who was negotiating with a drow priestess over the value of a vest of mithral chainmail.

The tiny hand disappeared, and Valas saw a drow child, perhaps no older than five years old, duck in between the manacled legs of a hobgoblin slave being yanked around by either its new master or someone looking to be rid of its service, perhaps both Valas mused. The boy, Valas assumed, since females were usually too prized to end up on the streets so early, was clothed only in a tattered loincloth.

The tiny drow's head pivoted actively, causing the child's long, silky silver hair to splay out behind him. He looked toward Valas and their eyes locked. Valas stared into the younger drow's eyes and was reminded him of the surface. The subtle blending of crimson and orange he saw recalled memories of the painful intensity of the overworld's sunset. Their eyes remained locked even as one of the child's hands snuck mechanically into the purse of passing stranger and snared a coin or two from an unsecured pouch. Valas saw a small emerald nestled firmly in the tiny first of the other hand, which hung limply at the child's side. _The duergar's spoils_, Valas thought to himself. As they continued their standoff amid the bustling marketplace the child's eyes moved down Valas' form to the various magical trinkets that studded his vestments.

Valas took a small step back as a priestess marched purposefully through the space he had just been occupying, and when he looked back for the child the space had been vacated. Valas shrugged inwardly and moved forward again, once again eager to reconnoiter with his prospective employer.

Practically at the end of the market, he saw the thief again, pilfering something from an alchemical stall. Valas marveled at the ease with which this child, who should by all rights be dead, navigated the marketplace. Mentally admonishing himself for losing focus so readily, Valas redoubled his pace to make up for the dawdling he had done up to this point. He was nearly out of the market onto the back alleys of Menzoberranzan when something in the sky caught his eye. He ignored it at first, wanting to make good on his promise to ignored any further distractions, but when he realized that the object's trajectory would intercept his path almost perfectly, he stopped and dived to the side. When it was about two paces off the ground he caught a glimpse of purple in the projectile.

_Dwarfblind stone!_ He closed his eyes and turned to shield himself from the impending flash that would rob him of his darkvision. What happened next surprised him.

Instead of one flash there was two. First came brilliant white, which took his normal vision, then scintillating purple, which took his darkvision.

Valas couldn't see, but he drew both his kukris and from one knee, sliced low and high to deter any attack. He felt something dive past him, perhaps someone staggered from the stone, but when he felt a tug at his vest he knew this attack was directed at him.

He saw a blurry shadow come out of a roll and take off sprinting. Valas reached for a small stone cube in one of his pockets and said the command word, before praying, not to Lolth, but to any deity that might listen, that his aim would be true. Valas cocked his arm back and fired, and when he didn't hear any impact a wry grin crossed his face. _You're good, _he thought, _just not good enough._

Valas activated another talisman and stepped through the dimensional portal it created to extricate himself from the chaos that ensued as a result of the dwarfblind stone. Once his eyes adjusted, probably quicker than most of his kin thanks to his brief stints on the surface, Valas looked back from the alley he had teleported to. He saw several bodies on the ground, some trampled, others lying in expanding pools of blood. Storeowners were brandishing weapons and pointing fingers, and a patrol was moving efficiently toward the site of the melee, breaking up conflicts with swift swords rather than swift words.

Valas gathered his composure and strode slowly down the alley through which his quarry had vanished._ Any second now…_

An inhuman shriek pierced drowned out the din of combat behind him, and Valas darted across the alley to were the scream originated and grabbed blindly around a corner.

His hand closed on a petite arm and Valas yanked violently, bringing him face to face with the marketplace thief. Suspended in the air at nearly twice his height, the boy flailed in vain at Valas. He tried to swing up onto Valas' arm but the older drow batted the boy's legs down before reversing his movement and slapping the other hard in face.

"Stop," the scout commanded, and after another block and slap the boy complied. "Give it to me."

The suspended child reached into a fold in his loincloth and withdrew the emerald he had stolen. "Don't play coy with me," Valas told him, giving the boy a violent shake. "You know what I'm talking about." The child's hands went back into the loincloth. Valas decided he didn't want to find out what else was hidden in those folds, and so he grabbed the end of rag and yanked, leaving the boy naked and sending a smattering of items over the alley floor. Valas handed the cloth back to the boy and set him on the ground. "If you want me to remove it, don't go anywhere."

The child retied his only article of clothing and Valas saw the stone cube he had thrown stuck the boy's right shoulder blade. The thief reached over his shoulder with his left hand to touch it when Valas' voice stopped him: "Don't." The hand retracted quickly and the orphan turned to study Valas.

Valas surveyed the items on the ground. The emerald, an odd assortment of jewels and gems, a few coins, a drow house insignia, a few tiny vials filled with various liquids or powders, a few smalls black beads, a small dagger, probably only really useful for delivering poison, and a small talisman consisting of a plain stone ringed by a series of small gems. Valas picked up this last item and reaffixed it to his chest, before giving himself a tiny mental pat on the back for not further underestimating the street urchin.

He glanced over at the boy to find him looking anxiously at the rest of the items, perhaps to see what Valas would do with them. "Gather your things," Valas told the child, "and be quick, the cube will have undoubtedly drawn unwanted attention."

The thief hesitated for a moment before seizing only the knife, the beads and vials, a select few of the gems, and finally the house insignia before coming to stand in front of the older rogue, keeping his eyes up but bending over ever so slightly to draw the other's eyes to the cube.

"Later," Valas said, before turning around and going down to one knee. _I can't believe I'm doing this._ "Get on my back. This will be quicker if I don't have to worry about you keeping up with me." Again the smaller drow hesitated momentarily before jumping up and slinging his tiny arms around Valas' neck. Once he was certain the orphan had a firm hold Valas took off down the alley, disappearing from sight just as the patrol from the market turned into the alley to investigate the cube's high-pitched whine.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

If this intrigues you at all or you like what you read, even a one sentence, "You write well, keep it up," review would be greatly appreciated. For further details on the story, this fan-fiction will focus on the orphan more than Valas or Jarlaxle, but I am going to try to weave this into the accepted canon. Oh, and of course, I do not own the rights to the characters already created in the Forgotten Realms campaign setting, notably Jarlaxle, Valas Hune, and Zaknafein Do'Urden.


	2. Valas' Proposition

"So," Valas began, struggling to move his jaw as the child's diminutive arms were wrapped around his neck, "do you have a name?"

Valas felt the his burden shrug and the boy's hair swish back and forth across his neck in a shake of the youngster's head.

"What about a family? I saw you carry a house insignia, but I didn't recognize the house." His question was met with more silence, accompanied by another shrug.

"Can you speak?" Nothing.

Valas sighed and continued running down the mostly empty alleyways, avoiding those with more than one or two occupants as he made his way toward Jarlaxle's base.

The old rogue felt the child's right arm tighten a bit around his neck, and before he could ponder whether or not the orphan was planning anything drastic, the left hand extended straight out to put itself into Valas' peripheral vision. Valas was momentarily confused before he saw the boy's pint-sized fingers moving with a certain rhythm.

At first he thought it might be a spell, before he realized it was drow sign language. It was hard to make out the characters because the thief didn't seem to have much experience making the appropriate shapes, so it appeared to Valas' as though his passenger was speaking with a lisp.

"Start over," Valas commanded, while wondering where the child learned the language. The language was taught in the Academy and carefully guarded, lest it fall into the hands of an outsider. For this boy to have picked it up through observation… Valas knew he had made the right decision now in bringing him to Jarlaxle.

It was difficult for Valas to understand exactly what the street urchin was saying, for without being able to see his face or his body much of the language was lost, and that doesn't even begin to consider the petite rogue's lack of proficiency with the signs. Valas guessed this was his first time communicating via signals.

"Where are we going?" Valas asked, deciphering the question. "We are going to see Jarlaxle. Are you familiar with that name?"

The boy retracted his hand and switched to extend his right arm, perhaps out of exhaustion. He was awfully small.

_The name I know_, the hand communicated, _the man I know not_. After this morsel of information had been communicated the arm returned to Valas' neck, and the orphan squirmed his way a little higher on to Valas' back.

As he rounded the last bend that led to Jarlaxle's base of operations, Valas slowed to a jog and then to a walk. He knelt down and let the child off. _Now that your hands are free_, he signed, _do you have a name?_

His query was returned with a shrug.

"Alright then. Let's go." He rose and walked toward the entrance of Bregan D'aerthe's formidable hideout. He descended into the cavern, the boy accompanying him at just a few paces behind. Once inside he was stopped and his identity demanded.

"Valas Hune. Jarlaxle should be expecting me."

"And so he is," a plain-looking drow named Nym'baryrd said, stepping out to greet Valas. Nym'baryrd served as a courier between Jarlaxle and the entrance to this particular highaway. "Ah, here he comes now," the other drow added, just after Valas recognized the distinctive clink of Jarlaxle's boots approaching their current position.

The colorful mercenary burst into the room, his vibrant cape billowing out behind him as his long, purposeful strides continued into the room. "Ah, Valas Hune, just the man I was hoping to see—" He stopped abruptly as he observed the tiny child standing in Valas' shadow, partially obscured from his view.

"Oh?" He knelt down to one knee and flipped his eye patch to the other eye, studying the newcomer intensely. "Valas," he said, his voice light and glib, "you didn't tell me you were bringing company. Where are my manners? Welcome to be humble abode, young sir. I am Jarlaxle, and who, may I ask, might I be entertaining this day?"

Perhaps he was intimidated or perhaps he just didn't know what to do, but the orphan moved out of partial obscurity and hid himself entirely behind Valas, which brought a melodious laugh from the mercenary leader.

"Ha! I'm glad I don't have that effect on to many people!"

"With all due respect, sir," Valas began, "we should talk. In private."

The mercenary's lone eye took on a sinister gleam as he regarded his agent.

"Yes, I suppose we should. Nym'baryrd, see to it that the child doesn't leave this antechamber, but bring him something to eat. He looks like he could use it," Jarlaxle added, observing the way the small drow's skin seemed to cling to his ribs.

Valas started to follow Jarlaxle down the passageway from whence he had came, but was stopped but a short tug on his cloak. The street urchin gestured pleadingly to the stone cube, still stuck to his shoulder blade.

"Momentarily," Valas told him, "if you do as your told."

The child sat down and looked as though he might pout as Valas followed Jarlaxle to his private chamber.


	3. Jarlaxle's Scheme

Jarlaxle led Valas into his personal room and took a seat, gesturing for Valas to do the same. This time, anticipating a longer discussion and not wanting to offend his host, Valas acquiesced.

"Who's the boy?" Jarlaxle began.

"Wouldn't you rather discuss the charts first?" Valas asked, holding up a few leather-bound scrolls he had removed from his pack.

"No, the scrolls we can discuss at any time. Besides, I may not have need of them inside the next century. I'm more interested in the reason you felt compelled to show my lair to an orphan thief. I'll have to do something about him sooner than that."

Valas lowered his eyes in deference. "My apologies—"

"Don't run that 'inferior male' routine with me, Valas Hune," Jarlaxle broke in, annoyance tingeing his tone. "I'm not upset, but there are reasons I don't recruit from the streets too often."

"He's special," Valas blurted out. "You can see he's probably not even half a decade old, but his mind is different."

"You sound convinced."

"Listen to this," Valas spewed excitedly, but calming down a bit. "I was coming back here through the bazaar and I observed him pickpocket a duergar merchant and some other miscellaneous targets. Our eyes met, and then he looked at my talismans."

"Yes, I was going to compliment you when you first came in but I don't think we had the time then. Obviously you're well traveled, but it is quite impressive nonetheless."

"Yes, well. I can't be entirely sure, but this is what I think happened. I've played the scenario over in my mind, and I believe he took a dwarfblind stone and a bag of flashpowder from an alchemical stall in the bazaar. Then he coated the dwarfblind stone in the flashpowder and threw it on an arc, so that he could launch it undetected and then move closer to me, his target." Jarlaxle stroked his chin as he listened, obviously intrigued.

"I saw the stone and dodged, but I hadn't accounted for the flashpowder. In my moment of disorientation he snuck under my guard and stole this one," he continued, gesturing to the talisman on his person, "the badge of the svirfneblin. I was able to hit him with a stone of alarm, as you saw back there in the other room—"

"Ah, so that's why... pardon my interruption. Please, continue."

"So as I was saying, despite my disorientation I was able to stick him with the cube. When he tried to remove it I was able to discern his location and capture him."

"I see."

"You said you were interested in anything else of note I might find on my journey to Calimshan. That's quite some distance, and he was the most intriguing find of the trip."

"Hmm… well he is what he says he is. There's no transformation or illusion magic about him. Is there anything else I should know before I invite him in?"

Valas thought for a moment before responding. "He doesn't have a name, or at least one that he knows or will tell me. He has a drow insignia, although whether it is from his house, assuming he is a noble survivor, or whether he managed to steal or scavenge it is questionable. He doesn't speak, as far as I know, but he managed to learn our sign language."

Jarlaxle cocked an eyebrow at this last statement. If any drow were to be pinpointed as someone who allowed their secret language to be stolen by an enemy, Lloth's fury would know no bounds.

"You can see why I brought him back."

"Yes, the question now is what to do with him. I certainly don't have the time, nor do I have the inclination to raise him myself, yet out of principle I cannot allow someone of his talent to go to waste. He is rather small, though, even for someone as young as he is. Do you know how old he is?"

"Not exactly, but I wouldn't say more than five."

"So you concur. Well, send him in. I'd like to speak with him, as much as that is possible."

- - - - - - - - - - -

"So what do you think?" Valas asked Jarlaxle once the orphan had left earshot.

"You did yourself credit by bringing him to me." Valas let out an almost unnoticeable breath than he was sure he hadn't been holding. His decision was correct, as they usually were. He had judged Jarlaxle correctly.

"Then what's next? Ask a common house to raise him? Surely you can't raise him here?"

"No, you're right about that. Most noble houses wouldn't take him, and even if I were to force their hand his situation would not be good. A common house wouldn't do either. The level of training he might get at a common house would be well below par. There might be one or two that have the right balance that would take him in for a favor…"

"What about leaving him to the streets?"

Jarlaxle looked at him, grinning: "I was waiting for you to suggest it, as he seems to have gotten along fine so far. It is only the deterioration, or rather the lack of development of skills that would concern me."

"Then invite him back here," Valas countered. "Make him live on the streets, but let him know you're watching. When he's old enough recall him and begin his formal education."

Jarlaxle stood and paced across the room to stare at an ornate tapestry, presenting his back to Valas. "Do you know why I don't normally take in any orphans?

"Besides the obvious issue of ensuring they survive to adulthood?"

"The simple truth is that they are undesirable. If their houses didn't want them, then why would I? They are usually physically and mentally inferior because they come from inferior stock. Most are inferior swordsmen as well, because while nobles spent their childhoods learning swordplay, the urchins spent theirs' surviving. Even when they aren't limited lumps of flesh, they still lack that which would make them most valuable to me."

"And that is?" the scout asked, seemingly intrigued.

"Cultural ties. Drow from the streets don't have the same understanding of how drow hierarchy works. They don't fully understand the politics, and above all, they only know what the view looks like from the gutter. I could buy any drow without a house with myriad promises, but fallen nobles, ah," he said, sighing deeply and looking appreciatively at Valas, "they know what it is to look down upon their fellow drow." If Valas felt Jarlaxle was describing him, he didn't show it.

"The reversal of fortune inspires something intangible within the outcasts," the mercenary leader continued. "They believe they merit more, and yet it is denied them, and so they smolder silently, opportunistically. That is what makes them dangerous, and that is what makes them valuable."

"I don't think you'll need to worry about that with this one."

"Oh, and why would that be?"

"He's too smart. One day he'll realize he doesn't belong in the gutter, and unlike your typical orphan, he'll be smart enough to do something about it. Some day, he will look down upon a priestess and feel as though she is inferior to him. And if he holds his tongue, he may grow to become secure in that assumption, and then you will have your perfect recruit."

"The streets then?" Jarlaxle asked, massaging his chin thoughtfully.

"The streets," Valas agreed.


End file.
